


The Stranger

by Alphie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphie/pseuds/Alphie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy with an extraordinary skill for deduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about six months ago... and then it just sat there. I added a little more to it a few months ago, but it's still very incomplete. Still, I figured the beginning was interesting enough to share with everyone. Until then, this is a one shot. Think of this as a plot bunny run amok!

He'd always known he was different.  Special.  Other.  From the time he could form sentences and understand the meanings behind words, he knew that certain adjectives were reserved only for him. He could tell from the way the adults that filled his life spoke to him, about him, that his very being was unusual.  Peculiar.  Atypical.  Yet he never knew just _what_ was so extraordinary about him.  There were several possibilities.

One.  It could be his appearance.  He didn't quite look like the ordinary child.  The mop of unruly black curls that crowned his head always drew attention.  His mother played with his hair constantly, running her fingers thoughtlessly though the waves as he drifted to sleep or sat on her lap to read a book.  Mycroft said he should cut it, that it looked too wild, but even mother's friends thought his hair was too beautiful to tame.  Besides, his blue eyes would look out of place if he didn't have hair to hide behind.  Ice blue, that's what mother called them.  Like a storm.  And too grown up for the eyes of a five year old. 

Two.  Perhaps it was the way he spoke.  His vocabulary was quite impressive for a child, but then he read every book Mycroft gave him.  He saw it as a challenge, to prove something to Mycroft.  He much preferred the storybooks mother let him find at the library to the historical and scientific books Mycroft supplied, but he read them all, nonetheless. Not that the books Mycroft furnished weren't interesting.  Far from it.  They just forced him to learn words no other five year old could pronounce let alone understand, which only lead to surprised wide eyes from the adults who never expected to hear a child speak so formally. 

Three.  Maybe it wasn't the words that were so shocking, but rather the content of the boy's conversations.  He understood far more than any child, than most adults, understood. He _noticed_ so much more than other people noticed.   A tucked in pant leg meant the person had been riding a bike.  A stain near the shoulder meant a person had a small child.  And he always noticed when a typically casual person suddenly wore dressy clothes.  That usually meant the person wanted to impress someone else.  His mommy said this art of noticing things was called _deduction_.  And she really hated it when he used it on her – to figure out what she was planning to fix for dinner or if she was going out with friends for the evening.

But to him, none of those things were odd.  Other people had black curls and blue eyes, didn't they?  Other people used words with more than two syllables, didn't they?    Other people could figure out what was going on in the world around them by paying attention to what people were doing and saying, didn't they?  None of that was out of the ordinary to him.  So none of those things could be the cause for his uniqueness, in his opinion. 

What set him apart from the other children he knew wasn't what he _had_ , but rather what he _didn't_ have.  For there was a big, giant, gaping hole in his life that no one ever wanted to talk about.  A missing person.  An _important_ missing person.  A _vital_ missing person.  Someone who should be there but simply...wasn't.  A person he had never even met.  He didn't even know the person's name.  All he knew was that every other child had one and he did not.

He'd asked mommy once about his father.  She looked very sad and said she would explain everything when he was older.  And that was the end of that.  He asked Mycroft if he knew who his father was.  Mycroft smiled in that way that wasn't really a smile and said, "I don't think anyone really ever knew him."  How cryptic.  And in the past tense, too.  Did that mean his father was dead? 

Some day he'd figure it out.  Someday he'd know, hopefully find, the missing man with black curls and ice blue eyes.  For his father had to have those things, didn't he?  His mother's straight, brown hair and chocolate eyes were pretty, but he didn't look a thing like her.  Maybe her nose.  And her mouth.  But the hair and eyes came from someone else.  

He only hoped that someone else wasn't gone for good.  Wasn't dead.  That would be... boring.  And he knew in his heart that his father, whoever he was, was certain to be anything but boring.  Secrets weren't kept about common, dull people.  No.  Only interesting, dangerous, extraordinary people were worthy of this type of secrecy. 

So that's where he decided to start.  Any man that came into his life who had dark curls and blue eyes and lead some sort of fascinating life would be questioned.   He'd make a game out of it.  Yes!  A game, so that the adults wouldn't catch on.  Problem was, there were so few people who fit the description that he never really had the chance to play.

That was... until the tall man in the long black coat knocked at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I do have a little bit more of this but it's very incomplete. If I add more to this, it will be only one or maybe two chapters more. Thoughts?


End file.
